//------------------------------//
// Chapter 4 
// Story: The Long Way Round 
// by Snaproll 
//------------------------------//

Blueblood became gradually aware of motion beneath him as his mental faculties returned to him. He cracked his eyes blearily open and regarded the familiar looking pegasus sitting across from him. 

"Hey, looks like you're coming back into focus, boss." Concord hefted a bag of ice cubes in one hoof over to his companion. "Here, you'll want this. You're looking like you're growing a second horn."

"Thank you, Concord." Blueblood winced as he hefted the bag and held it to the growing lump on his head with his magic. "So, did you enjoy Ponyville?" 

"Decently well. Though I don't think I made the same impression in town that you did." Concord grinned, his eyes twinkling. "At least in the local stores. There's a counter in Sugar Cube Corner that's got your face pressed into it." 

Blueblood suppressed a groan and pressed the ice to his head even harder. "I was afraid of that. What was the damage?"

Concord waved a dismissive hoof. "All damages paid for, with more besides to cover discretion." Concord glanced out the window, contemplating the passing scenery. Blueblood, for his part, reveled in the coolness of the ice against his aching head. At least, until Concord innocently asked "So, how'd your conversation go with Rarity?"

"She threw me through two walls, Concord. Not to mention a window. How well do you think it went?" 

"I figured. Well, better luck with the next one." 

"Next one?" Blueblood's tone was curious. "What do you mean, 'the next one'?"

"Well..." Concord stretched the word out, "I presume, since she's...well, not interested seems a bit of an understatement..." 

"That I'd break off my pursuit? Seek greener pastures? Get out while I still can?" Blueblood smiled ruefully at his companion and gazed out the window, watching the scenery glide by. He paused to consider his next words carefully. "No, Concord, she has proven herself to be a mare of commendable spirit. And integrity."

"So, she figured out you were being an idiot from the get go?" Concord grinned sardonically. 

"To an extent. But not for the right reasons." 

"So, she just saw you for the pompous ass you were being, and you'd rather you hate her for who you really were?" 

Blueblood was silent for a moment as he pondered his servant's reaction. "Well...she was uncommonly accurate in her assessment of me, despite not a chance to get to know me. She, quite rightly, pointed out that I knew nothing of building something up with my own hooves, for instance." 

Concord frowned, thoughtfully. "How did that come up in conversation?" 

"'Conversation' implies an exchange of words. I could barely get a word in edgeways while the fair Rarity was enumerating my physical, social, and intellectual traits. Or should I say, shortcomings."

"Nonetheless, my question stands, boss." 

"Well...I suspect that by that point, she was raving slightly. But in her tirade, she hit a few accurate marks. She is right. I don't know what it takes to build something on my own." 

"If you want to help me paint my O & O miniatures sometime, you're more than welcome, boss." 

"No...tempting as your figurines may be, I might have to set my sights on a slightly loftier goal." 

"Fair enough. What'd you have in mind?" 

"I'm...not sure. I will have to ponder that." 

And with that, the two of them lapsed into a companionable silence. 


⚜⚜⚜


The journey by train back to Canterlot took another two hours, by which point the effects of the concussion had worn off enough that to the point that Blueblood could string two sentences together coherently. Rather than returning home, however, however, Blueblood made a beeline for his normal refuge from the day to day drudgery and failings of day to day life. 

He went to The Club. 

Technically, it was The Most Distinguished Order Of Businessponies Club, but as that was a bit of a mouthful to get out with a straight face, Blueblood and most of the other members who had not ossified or were old enough that other ponies worried they'd died in their armchairs preferred to refer to it as simply The Club. 

At its core, The Club was a refuge for the working stallion, where he could unwind from the drudgery of running a business without inflicting the stresses of that job on the people in the club members lives. And, Blueblood reflected, as he opened the handsomely crafted wood doors, I can pick the brains of some stallions who might be able to give me the advice I needed. Oh Sure,  He thought, as he passed down the dark-stained wood-paneled walls, taking in the casing on the ceiling and the walls as he mounted the stairs, Concorde is a good and honest pony, but he doesn't have the position of a station to consider. And while I don't consider that to be important, I would be foolish to discard that without sounding out my friends.

The main club lounge was mostly unoccupied, save for two of Blueblood's most trusted cronies. Fancy Pants, immaculate in his coat and tails, stood at the window, watching the ponies of Canterlot hustling to and fro on the streets below. "- but I cannot see why pricing something at five cents below the bit would cause ponies to buy something more. Oh, I say, Blue old chum." Fancy gave a warm and genuine smile as Blueblood took a surreptitious seat at one of the armchairs in the lounge. "Good to see you! And how was Ponyville?" 

"Enlightening." Blueblood said, appropriating a snifter of brandy proffered by a steward and taking a small sip. "I must say, Filthy", he said, turning to the third of his cronies, "Your hometown is most hospitable towards outsiders." He turned back to the steward, hoofed him a small pile of bits, and said "Pardon me, my good chum, but could you fetch me a cold, moist towel?" 

"Of course, Mister Blueblood." 

Filthy Rich, in the middle of packing his rather fine briar pipe, arched an eyebrow and gave Blueblood a rather wry grin. "There's nothing like a good Ponyville Welcome. Tell me, did you have the full parade, or was it just the garden variety pie fight?"

"Neither, I'm afraid. I fear I've gotten rather entangled with one of the fairer of the town's residents." 

"Oh dear." Filthy rolled his eyes good naturedly, puffing on his pipe and his expression sympathetic. "Who was she, and do I need to update my insurance rates?" 

"Oh nothing of the sort, dear colt." Blueblood waved a hoof, dismissively. "At least, provided you have no stake in Sugarcube Corner or anything owned by the lovely and talented Miss Rarity Belle." 

"Ah, that one." Filthy nodded, smiling appreciatively. "She has a fine eye for fashion, that one. And a good mind for business. She's been good enough to allow me to sell her overstock and unsold merchandise in our stores. Outside of Ponyville and a season behind, mind you, but that's better than a poke in the eye with a stick." He arched a brow at Blueblood, his expression sly behind his pipe. "I must say, however, I can't imagine how she caught your eye. Or where." 

"I can." Fancy Pants chimed in from the window, a smile spreading behind his moustache. "I attended the Grand Galloping Gala this year as well, and I distinctly remember the mare in question pinning the ears back of a particularly obtuse and self important stallion." 

Blueblood nodded, floating the damp towel the steward provided over and spreading it over his head. "Yes, that might have been me. I made the mistake of playing my Overweening Self Important Git bit, and might have done it on the one eligible mare in Equestria that it wouldn't have worked on." 

"I see." Fancy strolled from the window, a smile still on his features as he took a seat in an armchair across from Filthy. "And I take it from the prodigious bruise on your face and the cold towel you're trying to cover it up with, you still intend to pursue the filly." 

"You appear to have the idea surrounded, Fancy." He levitated the washcloth up, eyeing the mustachioed unicorn stallion balefully. "Truthfully, how bad is the bruise?" 

"Hardly noticeable. But that seems to be beside the point." 

"Indeed", Filthy said, grinning. "So, what's your plan? I'm guessing you tried the direct approach, which led to the aforementioned contusions?"

"And some property damage, which has already been paid for." He sighed and let the towel drape over his face again. "What I really need is a way to to impress on the young mare that I know what it means to build up a business on my own. And that's going to be tricky." 

"Well, you're not wrong there, friend." Filthy nodded as he sat back in his chair, his eyes distant. "I know you've come by your wealth honestly, but there's a pretty big difference between managing ponies and managing mountains of bits. No offense."

"None taken." Blueblood frowned under his towel. "Though I could use those bits to some purpose, however." He arched a brow and lifted the towel back up, giving Fancy a look. "I wonder, Fancy. That filly of yours keeps you pretty well keyed into the world of fashion, doesn't she?" 

Fancy smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. "Oh, that she does, old bean. But I won't be any good at wooing the young mare on your behalf. Played wrong, that's a hand that might wind up costing me mine and you yours." 

"No, that's not what I had in mind." Blueblood frowned, an idea starting to congeal in his pulverized brains. "But that does put you in circles that I wouldn't have an excuse to to travel in. Do you suppose that you could be a cut-out, should the dear Rarity find herself with an...anonymous investor?" 

Filthy leaned forward at that, puffing at his pipe. "You'll have to be careful with that, both of you. The mare in question is uncommonly shrewd and perceptive. And as the Element of Generosity, if she was found taking advantage of that particular element, it would bring suspicion on the whole Elements at all." He puffed for a minute, letting that sink in. "Go ahead, by all means. But you need to try your hoof at something...drastic, I think." 

The two unicorns leaned forward, Blueblood levitating the towel off of his head. They traded a look, before Blueblood turned back to Filthy. "Drastic how, old friend?" 

Filthy shook his head as he sat back. "Gentlestallions, I know the mare. She's a standing weekly order at my flagship store for five pounds of ground coffee, a flat of tinned cat food, and, during fashion season, two gallons of Death By Prench Vanilla Fudge Ripple ice cream. I've talked with her. She's built her fashion business from the ground up. Her own blood, sweat, and tears go into every design she makes, even the ones that don't sell." He glanced between the two of them, his expression earnest. "Neither of you really knows that that means. Not at a gut level, where a bad season means you're eating pre-packaged noodles for a quarter." He sat back, puffing at his pipe, watching his words effect on Blueblood and Fancy. "Despite her bearing, she very much has an earth pony's ethic. Every bit of work she does, she cares about. Even, and especially, if it's unsuccessful." He pointed a hoof at Blueblood. "What that means is, old colt, is you're going to have to meet the mare on her own terms. She won't recognize you unless you know, from your hooves to your hocus poker, what it means to run a business." 

Blueblood pondered that, curious. He's...he's not wrong. He thought, with some consternation. "Supposing that you're right, and I'll be willing to admit that you are." Blueblood said, with the air of a pony testing the frozen ice over a pond to see if it will bear his weight. "What would you suggest?" 

Filthy smiled, his pipe clenched between his teeth, as he rubbed his forehooves together eagerly. "I've got just the plan."